


"going sane in a crazy world"

by fannishliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Women of Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:45:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Becky is having a really boring day when a '67 Impala pulls up in her parking lot-- but why is it painted dark green?</p>
            </blockquote>





	"going sane in a crazy world"

**title: "going sane in a crazy world"**  
author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss**    
spoilers: not so much  
pairings, warnings: none  
words: 2515

notes:  this story was prompted by [](http://somnolentblue.livejournal.com/profile)[**somnolentblue**](http://somnolentblue.livejournal.com/)  - thanks! I hope you like it!  It fits into my [Women of Supernatural](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/31847.html) series, especially the stories about the Winchester Gospels, including stories about [Haley](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/26678.html), [Mara Daniels](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/34510.html), [Sherri](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/33259.html#cutid3), and others.   Title from the Tick cartoon -- "You're not going crazy, chum!  You're going sane in a crazy world!!!"

Summary:  Becky is having a really boring day when a '67 Impala pulls up in her parking lot-- but why is it painted dark green?

It was a long dull Saturday afternoon. Becky had the day off, but nothing very interesting to do.  Stories online had trickled down to nothing since the books had long been worked over; with no new source material, writers soon lost interest and moved on.  Becky liked Sherlock fine, but Sam and Dean were real.  Monsters and demons and angels were real.  She had seen the Apocalypse with her own eyes -- well, she could pick out the omens and portents on the news as well as any of Sam’s friends from the books, and she seemed to feel the lull when something changed, when things quieted down.   But no one called her.  Chuck was long gone, almost as though he had never been.  And Becky was alone, with a Saturday afternoon, no will even to bake cookies, and a dull computer screen mocking her from the desk in her bedroom.

She had brought home a promising book from the store where she worked, and tried to remember how to pick it up and sink into it, in that lonely world where she’d never email the author to have a lulzfest over how nifty that particular trope was, how the author had tweaked it just right, and didn’t she love how that one girl had handled it in her big bang last summer?

She’d obediently turned from page five to page six when she heard a loud motor in the parking lot outside her building.  Her heart gave a mighty thump and she raced to the window. 

It couldn’t be, but it was.  A ‘67 Impala.  For some reason, it was painted a deep dark green.  Why...?

Her mind racing with questions and things she’d been wanting to say to Sam, she smoothed over her hair once at the mirror beside the door, and ran down to greet them so they wouldn’t have to buzz in.

She paused at the foot of the stairs.  A tall, thin, dark-haired woman in a black leather jacket was standing at the door. Becky hesitated, confused. 

The woman peered at her from the other side of the glass and waved tentatively.

Becky was half in, half out of that crazy world she loved from the books.  Any other person on the face of the planet would open the door and greet the stranger.  But what if it was a demon, a shifter, a werewolf, a witch -- or just a nutcase with a purse full of knives?  Becky was a trusting person.  Bad things didn’t happen to her.  But bad things did happen, she knew for a fact. 

She pressed the button for the intercom.

“Hi -- are you looking for someone?” she asked.

The dark-haired woman leaned toward the speaker.  “I’m looking for Becky Rosen.  That’s you, isn’t it?”  The woman leaned back, looking wry.  She had a direct gaze and a strong jaw, a mouth that only smiled when she meant it.

“Who are you?”  Becky said.  She knew she was being blunt, but for some reason, her radar was up.  She just couldn’t tell what she was pinging.

“I’m Haley Collins -- from book two.  Wendigo,”  she said into the intercom.

Becky stared at the woman for a second.  She didn’t seem to bear the trace of that awkward pretense when people had when they were larping.  The woman was for real.  “For real?” Becky said, her voice deepening in that way it did when she was really shocked.

“Yes,”  Haley nodded.

“But... but why. Why, why just show up, I mean, at my place? What are you doing here?”  Becky frowned. 

“Can I come in?  It’s cold out here,”  Haley said, pressing the intercom button with her thumb.

“Oh!  Oh, yeah.  Come on in.” Becky blushed, realizing she’d just been mouthing at the woman through the glass.

Haley gave her a kind of smirk as she held open the door. 

“Don’t you have, like, a silver knife, or some holy water?”  Haley asked.

Becky felt her eyes go round.  “I have this charm bracelet.  It’s like the one their mom had when they went back in time.”   Becky brandished the silver star of David she’d attached to the bracelet.  It had quite a sharp corner.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Haley said, “but you should probably, um, poke me with it or something.”

Becky always forgot how much she had read ahead in Chuck’s draft files.  The public didn’t know anything about Sam and Dean beyond when Dean had gone to Hell -- whereas Chuck had taken their story almost two years beyond that, to the moment when Sam carried Lucifer back down into the cage.  Becky had read that story in first draft just before Chuck had stopped returning her calls and disappeared, over a year ago.

Gingerly, Becky poked Haley in the index finger with her charm.

“This is like when my friend had gestational diabetes,”  Becky murmured, and rolled her eyes at herself. 

The prick mark bled a round, red droplet.  It didn’t foam or hiss or whatever. 

“Besides, I drew a devil’s trap on the underside of that mat a long time ago,”  Becky said, off-handedly, and Haley grinned.

“Good times, huh?” she said wryly.

“I guess,” Becky said, with a sigh.   “I’m on the top floor.”

“Good for the quads,” Haley said.

“Yup,” Becky said.  “And aerobic, if you jog.”

She soon had her unexpected guest at her kitchen table, a cup of coffee and piroulines out.

Haley sipped the coffee gratefully. 

Becky tried to be a little more graceful this time. “Haley, I’m happy to meet you... but why are you here?”

“I found you on the internet.  At first I just thought you were one of those freaky fans who read all the books and go to conventions and whatnot...”  Haley said.

Becky bristled.  “I am one of those freaky fans,” she huffed, but Haley cut her off. 

“Actually, if it weren’t for the books, it would be pretty hard to find people. Who’ve, uh, seen things.  Real things.” 

Haley looked up at her, still peering into her eyes for something.

“I’ve seen a few things,” Becky said, non-commitally.

Haley waited.

“I mean, I ran a con for Chuck, for the books, and there was a ghost, and Chuck banished it!” she said.  Excitement flared up inside her for a second, but quickly faded to a dull ache.  Chuck had been the best boyfriend ever -- before he disappeared.

“That must seem kind of tame, compared to being grabbed by a wendigo,”  Becky admitted.

Haley nodded.  “But the important thing was that they saved my brothers and me.  They knew what to do.”

“Yeah, they’re awesome that way,” Becky agreed.  “But I get the feeling you didn’t come all this way just to gush over how awesome the Boys are.” 

“Not at all. I’m trying to form a network. People who’ve met them -- women mostly.  Andrea Barr -- remember, from Dead in the Water?  She is such a nice person.”  Haley really smiled, remembering. 

Becky felt stupid.  All this time on the internet, why hadn’t she tried to contact the people in the books?  She just hadn’t wrapped her mind around the fact that they really were real.

“Who else have you met?”  Becky sat up and leaned forward. 

Haley gave her an appraising eye, but she was cool as a cucumber.  She sipped her coffee.  “Let’s see.  Well, Andrea and her kid;  Joanna Carroll, the mom with the two boys who were targeted by the striga; um, Kathleen Hudak, the deputy?  Dean’s old girfriend Cassie Robinson, Missouri Moseley...”

Becky’s jaw hung looser and looser.  “No way. No freaking way.  No way!”  No way this woman had tracked down all those women.

Haley took a drink.  “Yes, way.  I had their first and last names, their professions, the towns they live in -- piece of cake.  A third grader could do it.”

Becky felt so lame.  “But... but... they just let you in?”

“You did,”  Haley said.  “Nice coffee too, thanks.”

“Local roast, it’s my splurge,”  Becky said automatically, still wrapping her mind around it all. “You met Missouri Moseley?” 

“Yes.  She’s a psychic in Lawrence, Kansas.  She was expecting me.”  Haley munched on a pirouline.

“But why?” Becky blurted out.  “You know we’ll never find the Boys if they don’t want to be found.” 

“It’s not about them,” Haley said.  “It’s about us.”

Becky frowned.  “What do you mean, us?”

“Us.  Folks who know the Truth, who’ve seen it face to face.”

Becky narrowed her eyes at Haley.  She’d heard that Truth with a capital T before, and it never boded well.  
Her thought process must’ve shown on her face, because Haley started over.

“You’ve read the books.  You know what Hunters do, what they know.  But could you ever live like that -- paranoid, a killer?”

Becky frowned harder.  “The Boys aren’t killers...!”

“Becky, I’m not talking about the Boys!”  Haley took a deep breath.  “Okay, remember that girl Jo, and her mom, Ellen, who lived in that bar?” 

“Yeah,”  Becky said.  She’d criticized Jo’s character when she’d thought she was fictional, but now, the girl and her mom were both dead--gruesomely, tragically, dead.

“They were Hunters... or at least, the dad, Bill, he was a Hunter, till he got killed.  Was Ellen a Hunter?  Was Jo?  Yes -- but then again, maybe not.”

Becky frowned.  “They’re dead.  They were trying to take down Lucifer.  Hellhounds.” 

“That sucks,”  Haley said.  “But that’s not my point.  I mean, shit can happen to anyone.  I just mean, Jo and Ellen, women Hunters, are the anomaly.  Most Hunters are men, loners.  Crazy, paranoid recluses.  Why is that?”

Becky hadn’t thought about it.  “I don’t know.  Tragedy, I guess -- makes you crazy?”

“Why weren’t Sam and Dean crazy?”  Haley asked.

“Because they were raised that way?”  Becky guessed.  A lot of folks online wrote stories that leaned toward the idea that Sam and Dean were, in fact, crazy. 

“No-- because they had each other.  Dean couldn’t go crazy because he had his dad and Sam to take care of, and Sam didn’t go crazy because his dad and Dean were taking care of him.  Take any one of them out of the equation and they all start to lose it.  The solitary Hunter, I’m telling you, it’s a one way street to Crazy Town.”

Becky was confused.  “So ... then.. you’re... not a Hunter?” 

Haley smiled her strange, humorless smile.  “I hope not.  I’m a librarian.” 

“But... you have an Impala... and a leather jacket... and quads of steel,”  Becky said.

“True, that.  But no, my thing is information.  I have a degree in library science.”

Becky just stared.  “I don’t get it.  Anybody can just go on abebooks.com and order the books.  They cost like a dollar plus $3.50 shipping.”

“I’m not talking about the books, Becky.  I’m talking about the people. I’m contacting everyone that the Winchesters met up with, trying to link us up.”

“But why?  The Boys don’t make ties.  Most of the people they meet up with are happy to see them go.” 

Haley captured Becky’s gaze with a cold stare.  “I’m talking about a network, not of Hunters, but of people who know the Truth.  People who can recognize signs, patterns, omens.”

“Yeah, but then who takes out the monster?”  Becky challenged.  “Hunters, that’s who.”

Haley gave a sigh.  “Look, okay, what have you been doing since you met the Boys?”

Becky swallowed.  There was a lump in her throat she couldn’t explain.  “Nothing,” she whispered.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’ll just explode, if you can’t talk it over with someone?” Haley said. 

“Yes,” Becky admitted.  “No one gets it...” 

“Of course they don’t.  Your friends online, I’m sure they’re great people, but they’re fans of what they think is a fun series of books.  They didn’t live through this stuff like we did.  They still don’t realize that monsters are real, and that there are ways to stop them.”

Becky stared at her, not knowing what to say. 

Suddenly Haley said, “Show me your tattoo.” 

Startled, Becky pulled down the neck of her sweater, revealing the tattoo right above her heart.

Haley pulled down her own collar, and there was her tattoo as well.

Becky burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, I’m so worried about them, and Chuck, he just vanished, and what about Sam --- something horrible happened, and there’s no one I can talk to, and I’m just so scared, all the time...”  Becky sobbed, rocking back and forth. 

“Did you lace my coffee with holy water?”  Haley asked, gently.

“Of course,”  Becky sobbed.

“Don’t you wish we could all just, you know, talk?”

Becky suddenly, wholeheartedly, understood.  The Winchesters, Chuck -- they had touched her life, but she had been most unscathed -- yet the things she’d learned, about the reality of the world, were so dire, so important, and so blatantly impossible to share. 

She choked and sniffled and tried to get herself under control.  “Castiel told Chuck... that the books would be called... the Winchester Gospels.   I always thought it meant that Sam -- or Dean maybe -- was like, some new Messiah. But now I get it.” 

“Yeah.  See?  Like, remember the attorney from Folsom Prison Blues -- Mara Daniels?  She got in touch with a bunch of people, like Kathleen, and Diana Ballard, and Sam’s friend Rebecca Warren, so they were already kind of in touch.  They thought of themselves primarily as a support network for the Boys.  But they soon saw how it could help them too.”

“But what about, what about, if something needs Hunting? Who goes after it?” 

Haley drank her coffee.  “A few of us can Hunt, if there’s no way around it.  Like, if people are getting killed.  And yeah, we got in contact with Bobby Singer a while back, so that helped a lot.  That man knows a lot of people.”

Becky sat back.  Her eyes itched from the sudden jag of crying.  She sniffled.  “So, you came to see me, why.”

“Why?  Because you know the Truth. That’s what I’ve been telling you.  And if what you say online is true, and I’m assuming it is, you read the drafts Chuck left before he disappeared.”

“I, um, I actually have them -- on my laptop, and backed up in three different places. You think I’m crazy.”   
Becky lifted her eyes to Haley, but Haley was smiling.  She laid her hand over Becky’s and squeezed reassuringly.

“Not at all.  That’s the whole reason I came-- so we can all stay sane.”   



End file.
